Matters of The Heart
by EJK1993
Summary: Set after 'A Scandal in Belgravia' Moriarty threatens to fulfill his promise from the end of series 1, provoking a return from Irene Adler. Sherlock & John are yet again caught up in one of Moriarty's little games, but does Sherlock have a heart to burn?
1. Chapter 1

The clicking of Louboutins echoed throughout the lobby of the hotel, it was one of her usual five star meeting places, the only difference being it was in London rather than her new home of New York. She glanced around at the faces that passed her, her beautiful face hidden behind her designer sunglasses.

Being back in Britain made her heart race slightly, but her mask of ice never melted for a moment. She was Irene Adler. Sexual predator to the ones who could afford her, discretion and coolness were her job. Her exterior would remain impenetrable… Out of the bedroom at least.

She swiped her room key into the door that she had been directed too, following the instructions of the letter that had made its way to her apartment in New York. The letter contained a time, date, a room key, and a considerable amount of money as a deposit. People often contacted her like this. They're so predictable, distant and demanding until it came to sex, where she could turn even the most steely eyed business extrodainaire into a melted heap of desperation. It was this aspect of her lifestyle she enjoyed most, the power she had over the people who considered themselves the most authoritative on earth. It was this that gave her pleasure, not the sex. Never the sex.

She straightened up and sank into her dominatrix guise before slowly opening the door, striding inside and throwing her coat on the couch to reveal a corseted top and a semi-transparent floor length skirt which was split to the top of her thigh, making sure the suspenders were clearly visible underneath. She expected some kind of reaction from her client, but when she turned around to face them she was disappointed to find the place empty. What a waste of an entrance. She huffed over to her handbag and as she removed her blackberry to check her appointment she heard a toilet flushing, a door close and someone clear their throat. She put back on her best seduction face and slowly turned round, only to drop her act instantly. Standing there, complete with umbrella, was the oldest of the Holmes brothers.

"Mr Holmes" she cooed, "This is unexpected. What a pleasant surprise" her eyes roamed his person for any evidence of a weapon. She clasped her handbag tighter so that she could feel her small revolver through the thin material. "Is this meeting for business or pleasure?"

"Miss Adler." He nodded in greeting and sat himself down in an armchair. "Or should I say Miss Baker? I must confess your new alias doesn't do you justice, such a familiar name. I'm sure my brother would be flattered." Smirking he poured himself a cup of tea which had been laid out on the table. "Business. I'm not interested in the services you provide Miss Adler, not my style. However I do have a proposition for you, only one which requires you to keep your clothes on. Please sit. Help yourself to tea."

Irene ignored the offer of tea but laid herself out on the sofa, evidently still playing the seduction game. Mycroft rolled his eyes. "My dear, you really can drop the act. I can assure you it will have no effect. Since our last meeting and your foiling of the government's plans your charm has been somewhat lost on me. Unfortunately I cannot say the same for my younger brother"

Irene's eyes flashed as she sat up. "Ah yes, how is the sexier Holmes? Surprising how much appeal he has. For a virgin."

Mycroft grimaced at her remark and took a sip of his tea. "I'm afraid he's still under your spell somewhat, your manipulation seems to have taken firm hold over him since he rescued you from your execution. He keeps your wiped camera phone on his desk. As a reminder I imagine. I cannot say I approve, Sherlock's not one for feelings, especially when it comes to matters of the heart. Your presence in his life could only do more harm than good."

"Then why have I been summoned to London?" Irene inquired bluntly "I can assure you I had no intention of returning permanently anytime soon, I'm all set up with a new home and identity in New York as you're well aware."

Mycroft opened up a briefcase which had been placed under the table, and clicked it open to remove what appeared to be somebody's file. "Jim Moriarty." He stated, searching for some kind of reaction. Which he duly received, Irene's breathing stopped for the merest of moments, but it was enough for Mycroft's keen eye to catch. "We are aware that he has been in contact, and I regret to inform you that you are in immediate danger. As a member of the British government I'm offering you protection which the United States cannot. He is our criminal, and our responsibility. It does not matter where you are in the world; he has contacts in every continent. You are not safe. At least here we can keep a closer eye on you."

Irene's eyes narrowed as she listened to Mycroft's offer. Moriarty had indeed been in contact, he'd offered her a considerable amount of money to be his personal plaything. He'd let her know he was flying to New York on 'Business' and he was aware of her new identity. He'd also sent her pictures of her with clients that he somehow had got hold of, evidence that he had eyes everywhere. She wouldn't let him control her though, she made a living out of being the one in charge and she would not let herself be scared by some megalomaniac in a Westwood suit. She knew flying back to England was a risk, but so was staying in New York. "How did you know he'd been in contact with me? And what's the catch? Why offer me protection when you know what a naughty girl I am? I ruined your plans, blackmailed the government, and manipulated your own brother. What do you want in return for protection?"

Mycroft signed and ran his hand through his receding hair line, he knew Irene would be difficult to deal with; she was sharp as a knife and just as dangerous. "He has also been in contact with Sherlock. He made a threat after their first meeting; he threatened to burn out his heart. I'm afraid your connection to my younger brother has amused Moriarty somewhat. He's sent Sherlock a countdown and a human heart, with a message 'For when yours breaks. Lots of love, Jim xxx' the heart has been identified as one which was stolen from Mortuary at a few days ago. What we require from you Miss. Adler is information about Moriarty, and contact as soon as he gets in touch with you. Which we're certain he will. The clock is ticking."

Irene leant back and smirked, "so in return for protection you want my help in one of Jim Moriarty's little games? I don't have much information to give you I'm afraid, discretion is part of my business. And as for Sherlock's heart, I doubt very much he has one. But very well. I've missed England, and even some of my old clients. I'm willing to stay, but I have a few conditions." Mycroft shifted in his seat. "One; I want to stay in London, Two; I would like a certain amount of freedom. Secrecy is my profession; I will not be followed or spied on. And three, you have to pay me. Time is money and my time is worth a lot."

Mycroft stood as though to leave and said "Very well Miss. Adler, you're co-operation is much appreciated. You shall be residing in a townhouse in Kensington which is equipped with basic protection; bullet proof glass, alarms that connect straight to the secret service, and your own bodyguard who'll be waiting for you when you arrive. I'm also placing Anthea as your P.A, as I know you like to have one, she's one of my finest employees and will alert me to anything suspicious, she's also fully trained with a gun and has an incredible right hook. I'll wire an agreed amount of money into your account, and there is a taxi waiting for you outside. Good day." Mycroft held out his hand, which shook as she stood up.

"A pleasure as always" Irene winked as she fastened her coat and turned to leave.

"One more thing" Called Mycroft as Irene opened the door, she turned back round to face him. "Stay away from Sherlock." Irene smiled as she breezed out the door and down the staircase, gliding into her awaiting taxi.

"Home Miss Baker?" said the cabbie

She glanced up at the window of the room she was in minutes before, and smirked at the sight of Mycroft Holmes watching her intently. "No" she said "221B Baker street"

* * *

><p>Thanks for reading :) It would mean alot to me if you'd rate and review! Future chapters and more stories depends on how well this is recieved. Thanks guys x<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

"SHERLOCK!"

John Watson's cry echoed through 221B

"SHERLOCK! THERE IS A THUMB IN MY JAM! IF YOU DON'T BUY MY A NEW JAR AND REMOVE ALL BODY PARTS FROM THE FRIDGE, THEN I'M TELLING ANDERSON HE CAN BE YOUR NEW ASSISTANT!"

This was a regular occurrence at Baker Street, discarded body parts were a regular feature of the flat, much like normal people would have empty tea mugs or used batteries lying around. This did not mean that he was any less relentless in his quest to get Sherlock to move them from his sight, and preferably as far away from their food as possible.

Sherlock swept into the room with all the stealth and grace of a panther, rolling his eyes as he flounced into the kitchen, snatching the jam jar from his flatmate and stalked back to his room shouting "It's an important experiment on the effects of glucose on the decomposition of body parts in certain temperatures! It's an integral aspect of the Hutchinson case, but if it's too much of an inconvenience I'm sure you could moan about it in your blog."

John sighed, ever since Moriarty's package he'd been keeping a close eye on Sherlock. He was aware that Irene Adler was alive, judging by the erotic sounding text alert which occasionally made its way from Sherlock's blackberry. And he was waiting for Sherlock to jump into action, to make all kinds of deductions from the paper the message was written on, or to suddenly leap into the air and run off, his coat flailing behind him. Unfortunately no such thing happened, and the whole countdown idea was really starting to bother him. 3 days ago, immediately after the arrival of the heart and the message, an anonymous link had been posted on Sherlock's website, the link led to a Countdown timer which was set at 40 days exactly, then started to descend as soon as they clicked the link. They had lost 3 days, and all Sherlock seemed to be doing was resurrecting old cases which he had once deemed to 'dull' for his genius intellect to acknowledge.

John felt that now was as good as any other time to discuss their options, as the subject of his feelings and of Irene Adler was touchy to say the least, and had been tiptoed around in the weeks since her departure. John took a deep breath and decided now was no time for treading on eggshells, he drained his cup of tea and marched over to Sherlock's bedroom door.

"Sherlock? Can I come in; I want to talk to you"

There was a loud huff from the inside. Sherlock gruffly replied "I'm currently analysing the effects on the skin cells from the glucose in your precious jam. But please, feel free to come in and shout some more."

John rolled his eyes and entered to find Sherlock hunched over a microscope on his desk which John didn't recognise, "Is that new?" he inquired "I thought you used the one at Bart's for your analysing"

"Borrowed It." Came Sherlock's answer

"Sherlock! You cannot just steal medical equipment! That's expensive stuff! You're going to get yourself locked up."

"Don't be ridiculous John. I left a note."

John rubbed his forehead in exasperation but decided to let the matter drop, he had more urgent matters to discuss with him than his lack of respect for the law. "We need to talk about this countdown, and what the message could mean, and what we're going to do about it."

Sherlock didn't even bother to stop what he was doing, his eyes still glued to the lens of the microscope, "I think the meaning behind the message is easy enough to deduce John, evidently Moriarty feels he can cause me emotional anguish by hurting someone close to me, you're assuming Irene Adler judging by the fact the message came soon after she left. Presumably he gathered every speck of information on the Scandal in Belgravia case and thought that they he could use her against me. The whole countdown idea seems simple enough; it's a mechanism that's designed to cause me to panic and race off around London to protect my poor heart from being broken by an incident involving The Woman." Sherlock laughed humourlessly "The problem with people John, is not only their lack of intellectual capacity, but also that they underestimate me."

John looked at him not with his usually air of awe, but this time with pitying eyes. His mind is a miracle he thought, but how lonely it must be in there. "So you're not going to do anything?" He articulated calmly "you're going to watch the timer countdown, and damn the consequences to anyone else? You're not even going to try? What about the game Sherlock? I thought that's what you lived for, the thrill of the chase."

Sherlock sat at the edge of his bed and gave John a steely glare. "I've contacted Mycroft and Lestrade and put them on alert, I've also analysed the paper that the message was written on using this microscope, I've discovered that the heart was stolen from the mortuary at shortly before it arrived here, and belonged a man who was an apparent suicide victim, only he wasn't, and I've invested money into my homeless network in order to gather any information about anything that may be of use."

John smiled inwardly, "So you do care"

Sherlock stood and turned towards John. "Don't you dare underestimate me . This is one of Moriarty's games, and I'll chase him to the ends of the earth before I let him think he's beaten me. There's a difference between caring and winning. I thought you knew me well enough by now to know which one I'm partial to."

"Not interrupting anything am I boys?" Irene Adler's teasing voice called from the living room "If you're… busy… in there I could always come back later? Unless you're looking for a third member, in which case I'd be happy to assist."

John and Sherlock looked at the door, then back to each other, each of their faces portraying a different emotion. John's mouth was open in disbelief, whereas Sherlock merely rolled his eyes as though Irene Adler being in their living room was the most predictable and tedious everyday occurrence. Together they walked into the lounge to meet her.

"Speak of the devil" Sherlock said loudly as he entered the room. "Evening Miss Adler, how was your meeting with Mycroft? I doubt you're usefulness as a spy will last long, Moriarty will soon get wind of it."

"Ah, so he told you we were meeting?" she sat herself down on the sofa and went to reach for Sherlock's violin, which he swiftly moved from her reach. "Did he also tell you I'm to stay away from you? I'm afraid I've been a bad girl already."

"He did not tell me. It's easy enough to deduce. You've come straight from a hotel judging from the fact you've not removed your coat even though it's warm enough without one, so either you're ill or not suitably dressed underneath but don't want to reveal it. The fact that you're wearing frankly absurd heels and you're garter shows when you cross your legs rules out the ill scenario, therefore you've been to a hotel under the assumption that you'd be 'working' however the fact that your make-up has not been freshly applied and that your hair is neat, but not neat enough to suggest that it's been fixed since leaving the hotel shows you've not undergone any activity that causes you need to refresh yourself. Therefore you've been called to a hotel under the pretence of working but haven't, a meeting then. Who else would call you halfway across the world to a hotel for a meeting, and then give you information that would cause you to come straight here? Only a few know of Moriarty's message, Mycroft being the only one with enough money and influence to get you here. and the only reason he would summon you here is to benefit him by passing along information, as I'm well aware that he'd like to keep you as far away from me as possible."

John chuckled and collapsed in his chair, while Irene stood up, came within inches of Sherlock, whispered "you're so hot when you do that" then walked over to the cupboards in search of a drink. "The only way I'd help you out against Moriarty is passing my information through you, I don't trust your brother. Not that I trust you completely course, but I do slightly more than him." She eventually found some whiskey which belonged to John, and poured herself a measure, which she downed.

"Now then" she began "What's the plan?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Well Miss Adler, I'm assuming your plan is to go back to your new home. John and I have work to do. If you wish to assist you can text me if you receive contact from Moriarty, I'm also sure Mycroft will be in touch. In a few hours if I'm not mistaken," Sherlock glanced at his watch before grabbing his coat and scarf, and throwing John his jacket "now come on John, I'm sure Miss Adler would like to settle in to her new home and have lunch. Judging by the lack of colour in her face and the fact that her attention span is wavering I'd say she hasn't eaten today"

Irene half-smiled and flashed her leg as she stood, slowly walking towards Sherlock and placing one perfectly manicured hand on his chest, "Let me know if there's anything else I can do for you , you're not the only one who's being underestimated" she smiled seductively and turned to John "A pleasure as always , have fun with dear " she winked and left as elegantly and suddenly as she'd arrived. Her shoes clicking away down the stairs and into her taxi.

John turned to face Sherlock, confusion evident in his face, "what just happened?" Sherlock answered by storming into his bedroom and quickly returning with 5 nicotine patches, which he proceeded to plaster to his forearms. John looked amused "So she's a five patch problem?"

Sherlock just glared at him. "Come on. We're going to take a look at the body the heart was stolen from." John only half heard him, as Sherlock had stalked out of the door before finishing his sentence, leaving him to catch up as usual.

When they reached the lab at , Molly was there to greet them. She had been even perkier than usual following Sherlock's apology and kiss on the cheek at Christmas, which spelt disaster for Sherlock's already combustible mood. One wrong move from Molly could mean one of his regular onslaughts of criticism.

"Ah Molly!" he smiled charmingly, causing John to give him a puzzled side glance " I was wondering if you could do me a huge favour and bring out the suicide victim who's heart was stolen? It would help me in a very important investigation" He flashed his brightest smile, which seemed to be too much for poor Molly.

"Err… yeah; yes I should think so, erm. Let me just find you the file and erm" she turned to leave and ended up walking straight into a counter and knocking several test tubes over. Sherlock made a noise of amusement, which he managed to disguise as a cough when she swivelled round red-faced, and tottered off a little disheartened.

"You really are awful" John stated "you pretend to be completely ignorant of any kind of loving emotion yourself, but you manage to use hers as an advantage" Sherlock's smile dropped as he turned to look at john, he opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by Molly tumbling through the door "He's just through here" she beamed at Sherlock, who strode straight past her snatching the file out of her hands as he did so.

"Wrong, wrong, wrong!" he shouted at regular intervals as he flicked through the dead man's file. "Honestly is everyone just completely incapable of getting anything right? Or do you all just do it to wind me up?" Molly's face went from disheartened to depressed in the space of a few seconds " I take it someone came in to identify him?"

"Yes, yes his brother came in and identified him as Matthew Forster, 36 years old, Single, no medical complaints, a local vicar. Nothing unusual on the body just a tattoo on his left ankle, suicide victim" Molly spoke slowly and clearly, as though determined to prove herself to not be completely inadequate.

"Wrong" sighed Sherlock. "Something's wrong. Suicide's wrong"

"Well" Molly hovered behind him nervously and pointed over his shoulder at something written in the file he was holding "There were quite a few witnesses. They all saw him alone on a rooftop, and then watched him jump"

John frowned in thought "Suicide? But he's a man of God. Isn't suicide classed as a sin?" he looked at Sherlock for some kind of confirmation. But he just started pacing and muttering incoherently.

"Well maybe he lost his faith or something, turned away from the church" piped in Molly, trying to be of some use "I mean, how many vicars do you know with tattoos?"

Next came the moment where Sherlock had one of his sudden brainwaves. He paused, shot round, eyes wide. You could practically see the cogs whirring in his head like a freshly oiled machine. "Show me the tattoo"

Molly practically fell of her stool with the excitement that she may have contributed something valuable to the investigation. She unzipped the bottom of the bag and pointed the small tattoo on his ankle…

IV V VII

"Roman numerals? Inquired John. "Why is his tattoo important?"

Sherlock looked at him like he'd just asked what the capital of France was, "Do they just let any old person be a doctor these days? I thought you at least had to have an ounce of intelligence. It's not real John. It's recent and fake"

John examined the tattoo closely, looked to Sherlock, and back to the tattoo again "I would ask how you could tell, but I know you're going to go ahead and tell me anyway"

Sherlock smiled "The tattoo is recent because it has a slight shine to it, yet the skin surrounding it isn't red or irritated. I'd say a few days old, around the same time as his death. Someone marked the victim with it when he was dead and they came here to steal his heart. The edges of the numerals aren't totally straight, a sign that it's a rushed job. It hasn't been done with a needle because that would take too long and they needed to get in and out as quick as possible. I'd say it was similar to a henna style tattoo. The tattoo is a clue. 4 5 7." He had that face on when he'd figured out a clue, or heard news of a serial killer that he could chase round London. John felt a stab of sympathy again, he wondered if Sherlock could ever be this happy about normal things, like relationships or having a laugh down the pub instead of revelling in the death of another human being. "Molly" said Sherlock "I've texted Lestrade and asked him to further investigate this death; this means a post mortem will have to be performed. Please text me the results"

As soon as he'd finished talking and reached for his coat the familiar erotic sounding text alert echoed around the room. Sherlock cleared his throat and pulled out his blackberry as Molly looked thoroughly heartbroken.

'You were right about me not eating. Dinner?'


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi guys, I'm so sorry this has taken so long! I realise it's been like a year and a half (oops) since I updated, but I've been so busy and completely forgot about this! I returned to start writing another fic and decided that because this story had such a positive response that I have to finish it. I have it all mapped out in my head, so the next chapter shouldn't take too long. I'm sorry to all of you who were looking forward to me updating, I'm a terrible human being.**

**Love to you all, **

**X**

The next few days passed mainly uneventfully, which put John on edge. No matter how much he nagged at Sherlock that they were running out of time, Sherlock would just roll his eyes and tell him that he had other cases to work on too. John was getting so frustrated that he took to spending more and more time at the surgery, mainly to keep busy and away from the impending sense of danger, but also because Sherlock was disappearing most evenings and John had a suspicion that he was seeing Irene Adler. John didn't trust her, and he certainly didn't like the idea of Sherlock spending so much time with her. He wondered if they'd slept together, if they were now in some kind of weird relationship. He wasn't really sure how it would work between a dominatrix and the world's only consulting detective, the thought made his head hurt. He'd gone for an early morning walk to fetch the paper and some milk when his phone beeped.

_We're going out in 15 minutes. Make sure the milk's full fat, Mycroft's on a diet again. SH_

John grudgingly obeyed his order and fetched the milk before returning back to the flat to find Sherlock pacing.

"It's fine John, we have all day. Please take your time, would you like me to cook you a full English breakfast while the countdown ticks down to 0? If we're lucky Moriarty might even put it on hold while you wait for your bacon to crisp"

John stood aghast as Sherlock stomped out of the living room and down the stairs. His drawling sarcasm was uncalled for at the best of times, but now after all of John's worrying and his secret meetings with 'The Woman', he had the nerve to lecture him about time wasting! He wouldn't rise to it. He'd let Sherlock have his childish rant.

John sat in the taxi next to Sherlock, he could feel the tension radiating off him in waves. "Where are we going this early on a Sunday?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Church. Obviously"

"Ah good, you've decided to go to confession and tell the vicar how much of a complete prick you are. I should've bought my book, we'll probably be there a while."

The journey took about twenty minutes, they passed several churches and each time John cast a sideways glance at Sherlock, but he may as well have been trying to make eye contact with a gargoyle for all the reaction he was getting. John could see a couple of nicotine patches poking out from under Sherlock's sleeves, he was more stressed than usual. It was going to be a long day.

Eventually they arrived at St. Saviour's, which was packed full of people and surrounded by flowers, messages and various religious symbols. John cursed himself for being so slow, of course they were attending a Sunday service at the victim's church. Sherlock had his acting face on, it often made John wonder why Sherlock hadn't decided to take to the stage. It also made him wonder if his sociopathy was also just an act, but then he remembered the time he caught him dissecting 's grand-niece's Guinea Pig on the Kitchen table and thought otherwise.

"John, act sad, we need to find Matthew Forster's brother. He's bound to be here, I did some research and he's religious too. He might be able to give us some answers"

John tried his best to put on a face of mourning, but it was nothing compared to Sherlock's Oscar winning performance. Tears were already beginning to stream down his face and his hands were even shaking. John concluded that he had to be a show off in every aspect of life. They sat through a long service led by an ancient looking woman who talked at the pace of a snail on depressants, John glanced over to Sherlock several times expecting him to have his usual look of disdain plastered on his face, but was shocked to find he was still a figure of grief. He was playing his part well, the woman sat next to him even offered him her handkerchief and he sung the hymns enthusiastically in his baritone voice. They hung back after the service and waited to talk to a man who had been sitting on his own and was now surrounded by people all offering their condolences. Sherlock waited until everyone else had left to approach the man and talk to him.

"Hi there, I'm so very sorry" Sherlock's words were barely audible, he was playing it shy. "You must be Matthew's brother. My name's James, I was a friend of his, he did my wife's funeral service last month. A beautiful ceremony, led by a truly wonderful man. And now this" Sherlock buried his head in his hands and Matthew's brother placed a hand on his shoulder.

"There now, I know it's difficult but we have to trust in God's plan. Your faith will keep you strong"

Sherlock looked at him and smiled. "I just.. I just didn't see it coming you know? He was such a happy man, and then to take his own life? I'd only heard from him a few hours before he.. he…" Sherlock burst into a fresh round of tears "he sent me a text." Sherlock reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. "I was wondering if you could help me? He sent me a very strange message and I can't quite make out his meaning, being his brother you might know what he meant by it" John watched as Sherlock handed his phone over to the man, the text simply read '4 5 7', and watched the stranger's face furrow in concentration. Then after a couple of minutes he nodded sadly and handed the phone back to Sherlock.

"If thou be the Son of God, cast thyself down from hence: For it is written, He shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee: And in their hands they shall bear thee up, lest at any time thou dash thy foot aga…"

"OF COURSE!" Christ, I'm an idiot!" Sherlock snapped out of his act and raised his fists in the air. His sudden bout of blasphemy caused the people left in the church to turn around and shake their heads, Matthew's brother evidently thought him a lunatic. He wasn't far off. Before he had chance to say anything, Sherlock was striding out of the church, John trying to catch up and make some sense of the situation. Sherlock was too busy typing away in his phone to answer any of his questions, so they jumped in a taxi and headed back to Baker Street in a frustrating silence, unaware that there was another package waiting for them.


End file.
